A Week With The Skywalkers
by Child of Forgotten Stars
Summary: [feedback appreciated] [AU, first fanfic] Just when he was starting to accept the chaos of his life, all hell breaks loose... again. Unfortunately for Anakin Skywalker, it's just an average week.
1. Saturday Morning

**A Week With The Skywalkers**

**Saturday:**

**Part One: Morning**

"Ani!"

Oh, crap. Somehow, she knew what he was up to. Anakin Skywalker slammed the mirrored door closed and dove to the marble-tiled floor of the bathroom. He yanked open the cabinet under the sink… and promptly shoved his head under.

Artoo, who had been delegated to look-out duty, chirped. To Anakin, who had long ago began to understand Artoo, the message was clear. Get off the floor and face her like a man! Stop acting like a chicken wuss.

Anakin, in the process of hiding, halted abruptly, banging his head with a loud thud against the pipes. "Ow! Da-" he stopped mid-curse, azure eyes narrowing dangerously. "What did you just call me?" He demanded.

Oh, you know... wuss, weaking, wimp, coward, loser, pathetic… The droid made every beep and whistle slow and enunciated.

"_Anakin_!"

Anakin jerked in fear that she would discover what he was up to, and hastily shoved a small package, wrapped in a plastic shopping bag, under the sink. He got to his feet, glaring and rubbing at the side of his head. With the silent promise of retribution, Anakin stepped out of the bathroom, only to find Padme standing before him.

"Anakin?" She asked pleasantly, lifting an eyebrow.

"Um…" he resisted the urge to fidget, "Yes, dear?"

"We need to talk." She stated without any preamble.

Anakin rubbed at his head, "Oh, God…"

* * *

The fearless princess nodded and gave the signal to her second-in-command as they tore through the Valley of Death. Shelter loomed up before them, and the two brave warriors wriggled stealthily through the underbrush. With the strap caught in the bushes, there was no choice but to remove her helmet, or risk the chance of being seen by the enemies that surrounded them. It tugged free, revealing her thick brown locks and youthful face.

The commander – her second, her war buddy, her closest confident, her best friend, her brother – stumbled as they reemerged into the valley. His foot was caught around a giant snake, that was slithering around his shoe.

She yelled at him to hurry as he kicked his boot free, leaving it abandoned on the thick summer grass. He caught up to her easily, and they agreed to report to their treetop battle station. She was in the lead as they raced across the rolling flatlands, away from the Dark Lord's great citadel where they had found the Crest of Purity – and the noble palace that resided next to it. She lost her balance, falling into a pit of quicksand. She thrashed, but her companion was quick to toss her a length of silky rope that the noble king and queen had given the knight prince and warrioress princess.

Together, they sprinted across the Cursed Bridge, and scrambled up the ladder to their battle station.

They had a war to fight, after all.

* * *

"What do you want to talk about?" Anakin asked, barely managing not to stutter. He clutched his head, "Oh, Force…" he whimpered, "Let me just pretend that she didn't say that to me. Not the four worst words in the whole Basic language…Stars…"

She eyed him oddly, as if he were more than a bit insane. "Well, Ani…" she began.

"All right! I did it!" Anakin promptly burst into tears, burying his head into Padme's shoulder. "I know you said not to, but I did! I bought that God-awful green blazer. I liked it so much more once you said you hated it!"

His dark-haired wife looked perplexed. "Ani…I wanted to talk to you about something else."

"Oh, you mean that time? I was twelve, okay? I didn't know any -"

She cut him off, "Anakin! Have you seen my data pad? The one with all the maps?"

The princess studied her maps – a recent acquisition from the benevolent queen. "We attack here, here and here." She announced to the troops that were assembled before her and her second. "Any questions?" The troops were silent. "Good!" She nodded firmly. "Now…"

Anakin rolled his eyes, "That's it?" He asked, and, with that, walked out of the room and downstairs, slipping out the back door. He walked through the landscaped gardens. He stopped to pick up one of Luke's shoes by the garden hose, then found a gold silk sash to one of Padme's senatorial robes in the sandbox. The sad thing was that he was quite used to finding things like this. He crossed the low stone bridge that passed over the fish pond, where several koi fish, glinting in the mid-morning sunlight, bobbed up and around each other. He climbed easily into the tree house, and resisted the urge to laugh.

There stood Leia, in front of the low plastic table, with the missing data-pad of maps projected before her. Luke stood a few feet away, glaring at the rows of stuffed animals that were arranged on the floor. Both of his five-year-old twins were covered in dirt, there were pine needles in Leia's pigtailed braids, what looked suspiciously like sap on Luke's left cheek, Luke was soaked to the knees and wearing a bike helmet.

Anakin decided that he didn't want to know.

"So…" he muttered instead, grabbing the data pad from the table.

Leia shrugged, "Yeah…"

Luke shuffled over to his sister, "Well…uh…we were…um…"

"Playing." Leia supplied, as sharply as a five-year-old girl could.

Anakin cleared his throat, "Well, carry on…or something…" He was halfway to the ground when he heard Luke sum up his thoughts:

"Well, that was weird."

Anakin shook his head and went inside. He found Threepio fussing anxiously, as Padme hovered nearby, twisting her pearls in a slender hand. _I'm not gonna like this. _Anakin warned himself, bracing for soul-crushing defeat. Even so, he couldn't resist asking, "What's going on?"

Threepio worked diligently on spreading a starched ivory linen tablecloth over the long mahogany table. Padme looked annoyed, "I can't believe you forgot!"

"Oh," Anakin blushed, "I was just testing you. Happy anniversary, honey!"

She shook her head, "That's next Friday."

"Thanks for reminding me." He scribbled it down on his arm in sharpie. "Uh, kids' birthday?"

"No. That's at the end of the month."

He wrote that down too. "Harvest Festival?"

"Wrong."

"Your birthday?"

"No, but I wouldn't say no a good bottle of whiskey."

"My birthday?"

"Anakin Skywalker, you are a screw up and a failure at life."

"Oh! Don't tell me! It's um… it's gotta be that time of year we all get drunk and decorate the tree and give each other presents."

She blinked, "Do you mean 'Life Day?'"

"Exactly!" He kissed her quickly, checked his pockets for his keys and wallet, then ran out the house, leaving the front door wide open. He nodded in greeting to their next-door neighbor, an elderly gentleman who was sitting at the edge of his property in a checkered lawn chair, a fishing pole in hand. "Hey, Mister Fini!" Anakin called, causing the supreme chancellor of the Republic to snarl at him violently.

"Don't call me that!"

Anakin flashed a genial smile, "Is there anything you want for Life Day?"

"Life Day? Boy! It's not even Souls' Day!"

"Look, Palpy," Anakin rubbed his temple, "I don't make fun of you for fishing in the sewer or spitting chew tobacco at people who walk by or threatening to call the cops on my family or kicking my puppy or insulting my children or plotting against my wife or trying to convert me to the Dark-"

"Get to the point!"

"You don't make fun of how my family celebrates Life Day." Anakin nodded and gave a world-weary salute, before climbing into his speeder and taking off down the quiet suburban street.

Padme sprinted out into the yard, "Ani, you…ugh!" She stamped a foot against the manicured lawn in frustration.

Palpatine offered the woman a gentle, grandfatherly smile. "Your husband just bade me a happy Life Day, senator."

Padme sighed, rolling her eyes, "Yeah. I can't _believe _he doesn't know that today is Weyzenaski."

"He's not from Naboo; is he?" Palpatine asked lightly, easing himself from his seat. "How could he possibly know? It's only celebrated once every ten years." The old man ambled to his speeder, "If you will excuse me, senator, I must go to Home Depot. I am going to build myself a fence. To keep myself as a far from your family as possible. You understand." Padme, in spite of herself, nodded.

* * *

The mall had been surprisingly crowded, Anakin noted, setting the last bag into the storage compartment of his speeder. It was too full to close, so Anakin quickly maneuvered a few bags from the trunk to the small trailer attached to it. He headed home, driving much more slowly and carefully than he usually did – which was still forty miles over the speed limit at any given time. A police officer flashed his lights. A few Jedi mind tricks later, Anakin made it home.

Padme greeted him with, "It's not Life Day."

He rolled his eyes, "Yeah, I kind of figured that when the gift-wrapping hussy kept giving me weird looks. Guess I'll have to return the ponies now, huh?"

"You bought a pony?" Padme's voice rose sharply with incredulity.

"Yeah. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Listen…" he began, attempting to placate her anger before one of them ended up on the couch.

"You bought a pony?" Leia asked, emerging from behind the leather sofa, Anakin's macrobinoculars in hand. Luke hastened to grab them back, fixing them towards the full-length windows that provided a view of the side of Palpatine's house. Or the Dark Lord's citadel, as the twins had taken to calling it.

Anakin grinned, "Actually, I got two." His words caused the girl to beam. Anakin turned to Padme, "See?" He said quietly to his wife, "Made your little girl smile. I bet you can't put a price on that."

"Try three thousand credits," she snapped, going back into the dining room.

"It cost more than that," he protested, trailing after her, "Why are you and Threepio cleaning in here anyway? We never eat in here, except for on holidays."

She looked at him, "It is a holiday," she sighed, "one called Weyzenaski. It's a family thing, celebrated once every ten years. It's a pretty big deal. Basically, you invite your relatives over for dinner, everyone gets all dressed up and you act like you love each other."

"So, wait…you're family's coming?" Anakin froze.

"Of course," she said cheerfully, folding a napkin, "Help me fold."

Anakin began to fold a square linen napkin, folding it into a triangle. "Do I have to be there?" He asked cautiously.

"Anakin, there's a lot of alcohol at these things. And you might get some dirt on me from my sweet great-aunt – you'd love her; she's sweet as a buttercup. Oh, and everyone gives the hosts money."

"Okay, I'm in." Anakin said, then narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Your family's coming over and _you're_ cooking? Stars, Padme, I know you don't like them, but that's no reason to try to _poison_ them!"

"Anakin," she rubbed her temple, "the food is going to be catered. And, besides, I do too like my relatives."

"Angel…you wrote a book about your relationship with your mom called '_Mother, I Love You But Please Just Die.'_"

"It was a bestseller," she reminded him, her voice sweet though strained, "Anyway, I look the liberty of inviting someone for you."

"Not Obi-Wan. You didn't invite Obi-Wan did you? I hate Obi-Wan, you know that."

"You said he was like your father."

"I was drunk."

"Anakin, we have this conversation about once a week. And you never –"

Anakin held up his origami napkin to distract her, "Look! A ducky!"

The attempt didn't work. "Anakin, why do you hate Obi-Wan?"

Anakin drifted into a flashback…

_He stormed into the small apartment, slamming the door behind himself. _

"_Rough day?" Obi-Wan called, unable to keep the note of mirth out of his voice. Anakin found his venerable master in the living room. Obi-Wan was watching some day-time soap opera in a recliner, wearing only his underwear. His cheeks were flushed, and there was no less than three beer cans on the low table next to the couch – not counting the one curled loosely in his hand. The only thing wrong with the scene was that Obi-Wan Kenobi was unlikely to _ever_ have a beer belly. _

_Anakin groaned at the sight of him, and flopped onto the couch, sprawling across the other end._

"_Tostitos?" Obi-Wan offered, "The salsa's pretty good."_

"_You know you're just going to end up hung over anyway, right?" Anakin offered. "You hold your liquor worse than a Toydarian on speed."_

"_Nothing that a little hair of the dog can't fix." Obi-Wan replied lightly, lowering the volume as a commercial came on. "I admit, you do know some pretty good hangover remedies. Don't tell me how."_

_Anakin's eyes performed an 'Oh-God-Three-Sixty.' "Your mother screws a goldfish."_

"_Charming as ever," The bearded Jedi responded to his thirteen-year-old Padawan. "How ever did I get so lucky as to have such a _pleasant_ apprentice?" _

_Oh, he was good. If, by 'good' Anakin meant 'extraordinarily talented at scouring salt into a wound.' "Master. You and a short pier." _

_Obi-Wan glanced at his watch, "Hey," he said, as if noticing for the first time, "you're home early." _

_Anakin tossed a thick envelope towards Obi-Wan, "This is for you. It's from my teacher." The blonde boy kicked off his shoes and leaned back into the couch, propping his feet up on the edge of the coffee table. His muddy boots, which had left slight imprints on the pristine white carpet, now sent a stack of magazines and books falling to the floor. Anakin didn't say anything more – nothing more needed to be said._

_Especially not when the generously-stuffed envelope had "**Padawan Anakin Skywalker: Disiplinary Report (9/17/4063)**" written in a bold hand across the front. _

_Obi-Wan heaved a great sigh, and unfolded the paper. He squinted at the words. "Get me my glasses." _

_Anakin snorted lightly and retrieved a pair of glasses from the top of the television. They were made of hot pink plastic with purple glitter, and had long ago had the lenses punched out. "Here," he muttered sulkily, grabbing the remote from his master's hand. Nothing was on, as it was still very early, so he settled on the news. It was better than Obi-Wan's soap operas. _

_The Jedi's voice was almost bewildered. "Ani…" Obi-Wan's thick brows lowered in consternation, "You covered a girl's hair in paint." _

"_Her back, too," Anakin said, distracted by the sight of the carnage on the news. _

_Obi-Wan looked up, "Oh, yeah, there was an earthquake on Alderaan. And some gas lines broke. It sucks, doesn't it?" He looked back at the paper, "You locked the teacher in the supply cabinet." _

"_No, I didn't." Anakin mumbled, "It was my idea, but I didn't do it." _

"_In front of the Coruscantian Board of Education Inquisitor?" _

"_Oh, so that's who the old hag was?" Anakin returned flippantly, as the images became more devastating. _

"_Don't be glib," Obi-Wan paused to push up the useless pink-framed spectacles, "Hey, get the mail. And some scissors." He waited for the boy to accomplish the selected tasks, before continuing. "Pitted two Jedi knights against each other in a match to the death… fought a mountain troll in the girls' bathroom… left an oversized ostrich egg wrapped in blankets in a janitors' closet…pilled a cat… sassed Master Windu… aha! Here's one even you can't wriggle out of: you tied a boy to a rolling chair, pushed it into the boiler room, and said that if he trusted the Force enough, someone would find him."_

_Anakin shrugged, "They heard him yelling. So I guess I was right."_

_Obi-Wan took the purposeless glasses off, and rubbed his ocean-colored eyes in exasperation. "Why, Anakin? What possessed you to do that? No…no…better yet, what did the boy in the boiler room say?" _

"_He said that Anakin Skywalker was right, but it was pretty hot in there." Anakin looked back to the holo-projector he was watching, "I feel pretty bad for all those people on Alderaan."_

"_You should," Obi-Wan answered cuttingly, his nearly inexhaustible patience finally having run out. _

"_Huh?" _

"_A city of six thousand Alderaanian people just blew up in a gas-created fire after losing their homes in an earthquake because of you. Do you remember last night? When you wouldn't meditate? That caused the earthquake, Anakin. Six thousand dead because the kriffing Chosen One couldn't sit his ass down and listen to his teacher. Oh, and, for everything you did wrong today…" he got to his feet and crossed the room to where a large bulletin board hung. Tacked to the corkboard, there were at least three dozen pictures of starving and missing children that Obi-Wan had cut out from the little brochures sent to him by random charities. "For everything you did wrong today, these kids died. Say bye to Nathan, Emily, Sally, Jimmy, Link, Blink, Zelda and Bob." For every name, he picked a random picture, and crossed it out with a bold red sharpie. _

_Anakin stared, mute with horror. _

_Obi-Wan Kenobi was hard-pressed to keep from laughing. _

"So that's why I hate him." Anakin finished, looking triumphant. "And then there was that time when he got into my room while I was at school."

Padme, who was beginning to get ideas for keeping her wayward twins in line, breathlessly asked, "What he'd do?"

"Okay, so…he gave me a dog to teach me responsibility. God, I loved that dog. Then, a few weeks later, I screwed up or something… so, he took the dog into the meditation garden with a blaster and told me that someone had to pay for my insubordination. Then he shot the gun off in the air a few times, then told me the dog was too tough to kill with a blaster, but next time he'd use a lightsaber."

Luke's golden dog – named Old Yeller, through a strange string of coincidences – whimpered and backed away in fear.

Padme was laughing by this point. Anakin glared at her, "It's not funny! I was just a kid, you crazy Wookie!"

* * *

The bearded Jedi sneezed as he bent over the open oven, his battle-callused hands protected from the heat by lobster-shaped gloves. He admired his concoction. It had taken several shots to get up the courage to play Iron Chef, but he had whistled the theme to Yan Can Cook all throughout his cooking experience.

Finally, he had ended up with an astounding concoction. It called for, among other things: fifty-three individual marshmallows – the big kind, not the wimpy little dehydrated kind he had found in the cocoa packets; several cups of chocolate syrup, heated in the microwave; a few packets of powdered cocoa that some youngling gave him last Life Day; baked in a gingerbread-flavored pie crust; no less than twelve cherries; all of it topped with ketchup, a hint of relish, something that suspiciously looked like dog hair, mayonnaise and marshmallow fluff… and had been coated liberally in rum, _after_ he took it out of the oven just in case the liquor evaporated.

He had made three – Padme had asked him to bring a dessert, one for the trip, and one for the guys at the Temple. This last one he left in the oven to keep it warm, still humming to himself as he spun the dial, unnoticing the fact that he had twisted it all the way to "broil." Still humming, he walked to the door.

"Leaving you are," rasped a voice from the hallway.

"Don't be jealous," Obi-Wan responded as he shifted the two white boxes that contained his desserts. He straightened his cloak with his free hand…and slung a heavy-looking duffle bag over his shoulder, grunting slightly at the weight. "Just…a little…trip…" He attached a neon yellow Post-It note to the door for Mace, and hid the key under the doormat.

The 'pie' was still in the oven, steadily darkening…

…**To be Continued…**


	2. Saturday Afternoon

**Saturday:**

**Part Two:**

**Afternoon**

"Hey, I wonder who that woman going over to Palpy's is…" Anakin muttered, looking out one of the windows in his bedroom. "Doesn't she realize he's up to something?"

Artoo gave a low whistle. I ain't never seen an ass like that. 

"Of course you haven't," Anakin replied brusquely, looking through his macrobinoculars again. "I bet the old man's plotting."

Should we go over and break it up? 

"Of course," Anakin answered automatically, brash as ever. He struck a determined pose, grabbing his lightsaber and twirling it in the air, in an obvious _Final Fantasy VII _tribute. Suddenly, his shoulders slumped, and he fixed his tie. "But there's a fence now…"

So?

"Well, there's no gate." He said in a fierce whisper.

There's no gate? The chirping droid mocked, Have you gone mad? Are you a Jedi or not? Pull yourself together, man! Besides, Anakin…the fence is two feet of scrap lumber. You're six-kriffing-six. I don't think it's gonna be a problem.

"You're damn right," Anakin decided, a steely glint entering his eyes, "I'll use my mad Matrix skills…and I might just get some tonight!"

A curious beep. Eh?

"You see, girls like guys with skills. Mechanical skills, fencing skills, fake-ID-making skills, Jedi skills... hey, wait. We're describing _me _here!"

If Artoo had the hands to accomplish such a thing, he would have smacked himself in the forehead. Of course, if he had mechanical arms he would have resorted to beating himself with them, at the exchange that followed.

"Damn!" Padme groused and sat up from where she had been lying on the canopy bed, her face smeared with a thick layer of moisturizer. She walked over, grabbing Anakin by the shoulders and pulling him into a rough kiss. She shoved him against a nearby wall, clung about his neck, looked deeply into his eyes…then kissed him again. She pulled away, leaving him wanting more. "I have to get ready."

Daaaaaaamn. Artoo whistled admiringly.

Anakin lifted his fingertips to his mouth, much like a sixth-grader after his or her first kiss. "Honey…" he said admiringly, "I think the spark is back in our marriage!"

"Anakin," Padme murmured, "The spark never left." She gave him a long, lusty look that promised things to come. Then she turned away, suddenly a responsible adult, "My relatives will be here in an hour." She smacked him in the ass, and walked off, hips swaying, into the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothing.

"Why are you making such a big deal out of this holiday?" Anakin called as she started to run a bath. "I mean," he went on, "I've met your family. I know you want impress them, but w why do I have to wear this pimp-suit?"

Padme stuck her head out of the bathroom door. He was relieved to see that she had washed the thick green cream off her face. "No, Anakin," she said as if she were talking to an adorable, but rather dense child. It was the same way she spoke to their kids. "You've met my parents and my sister. You have _not _met my family." She slammed the bathroom door.

Anakin shook his head, picked up the micro-binoculars, and continued to spy on the neighbors. He knew where Palpatine's bedroom window was – he had been privy to many of Palpatine's singing-into-a-hairbrush sessions. Today, however, the curtains were closed for the first time that Anakin could remember. He could just make out the sight of two figures beyond the veil. "Holy shit," he breathed, leaning forward slightly. He had the Force, extensive knowledge of robotics and a video camera… he wondered what Palpatine would be willing to pay to keep this information from getting in the wrong hands.

A small hand tugged at his pant leg. He glanced down to find Leia. The girl was looking every part the spoiled daughter of a wealthy senator. Her hair had been braided and twisted into a neat bun, her white Mary Jane's as shiny and new as their day of purchase. Starched tights clung to her thin legs, hiding the childish scrapes that adorned her shins, remnants from rough summer play. She was clad in a pink-frilled, beribboned dress, the bell-shaped skirt falling to her knees.

Luke stood by her, shoulders slumped. Just that morning, his hair had been framing his face. Now it barely reached his forehead. The sides were shorn, but the fine-spun gold strands were left to grow long on the top. He wore an electric blue suit with a plain gray tie. Both of them looked completely, utterly miserable.

Anakin, however, couldn't tear his eyes away from Leia's dress. It was a monstrosity. It was covered in flounces and delicate pink ribbons. It was the color of Pepto Bismol. In fact, he distinctly remembered the cat's vomit being the same color.

He brought his eyes away from the skirt to look at the children. Both looked so dejected, he was half-worried they would enter a ritualistic suicide. He dismissed the notion, still staring at the over-bright garments. His own suit was a respectable slate-gray color. Padme had said that it would bright out the color of his eyes. Only…his eyes were blue.

Not for the first time, he wondered if Padme was blind.

It would, after all, explain so much.

"Daaaad," Luke whined, in classic Skywalker fashion.

Leia immediately followed her older-by-a-minute twin's less than stellar example. "I look like crap," she pouted. "Luke, too."

"Yeah, I noticed. I mean, uh… well… that sounds like a personal problem. I mean, Lei', Princess… what are you talking about? You look…um…you look…"

"Like a cupcake?"

Anakin rubbed the back of his neck, "I was going to say Threepio's love child with Martha Stewart, but yeah."

"Or crack added to cotton candy," Luke put in.

Leia tackled her brother easily – they were much faster and more agile than normal children their age. And they knew the Force. Surprisingly, they were an inch or so smaller than was average, something Padme had fretted endlessly over, even when a pediatrician had told her that twins often grew slightly slower than single births. Anakin watched the two fight fondly. Luke and Leia had endless energy, were cute as the proverbial button, and were forever running rather than walking.

Leia was screaming at the moment, "Luke, you look like abortion!"

"You look like _Alice in Wonderland_!" Luke shifted from beneath her, pinning her to the ground.

She bit his hand, wriggling loose, "You look Frank Sinatra!"

Luke ducked her well-aimed punch. "You look like the Easter Bunny's slut!"

Leia flinched as his foot connected with her shin, "You look like Jack Sparrow's bimbo!"

"Leia! Luke!" Padme admonished sternly, as she emerged from the bathroom. "We do not use those words. Unless we're talking about the woman whose running against me for office. Then, 'crack-fiend whore-lady' is the polite term. Or unless we're talking about Aunt Jeanie, who won't be joining us tonight, in which case the phrase you use is 'lazy, tawdry strumpet." She flashed a resplendent smile, revealing her even white teeth, and slid off her robe to reveal a black silk slip, took a garment bag from the closet, and disappeared into her small dressing room.

Anakin sulked, "I feel like I'm invisible." He whined.

"Dad…shut up." Luke said.

Anakin ignored him and strutted after Padme. "Angel, what's up with the kids' clothes?"

"Zip me up," she said, turning and lifting her hair off her back to give him a view of her pale back. He complied, slowly sliding the zipper up. "Thanks. Anyway, it's to shut my mom up about the kids never using her presents."

"Oh," he laid his hands on her shoulders, idly working out the tension in her neck with his thumbs.

"Ani…could you make this nice for me? My family hasn't been together in years. Not since Aunt Eunice died. We had fun then."

"You had fun when Aunt Eunice died?" Anakin's mouth quirked into a smile.

"Yeah, no one liked the miserable old hag. My family's a bit odd."

"What's that mean?"

"You'll fit in fine. I hope."

The doorway interrupted the combination massage/conversation. Anakin pulled his hands off her with great reluctance, and took his time strolling through the unusually clean house. He passed Threepio, who was freshly-oiled, mirror-polished, and looked completely in his element. He rolled his eyes as he heard what Threepio was fussing over this time – the roses in a vase being too close together. The doorbell rang again. And again. And again. Annoyed now, he stalked to the front door, pulling it open to reveal two women and a man.

A woman in a long black dress, and a tattered shawl pinned around her shoulders by a broach glittering with diamonds and amethysts stepped forward. She wheezed slightly, leaning heavily on her cane. "I am Agatha." When she spoke, her voice was brittle and hoarse, "I foresee great suffering in your future." With that, she swept into the house, without waiting for an invitation.

The other woman was rather corpulent, though her mass was hidden under a tent-like yellow dress. She chuckled heartily, "That's Ma for ya," she muttered, as she vigorously shook Anakin's hand. "I'm Padme's aunt, Corona Lewis. That's my husband, Ken. It's short for Heineken."

"I'm Anakin," he replied, feeling slightly overwhelmed.

"Great to meet you, Nicky. You'll have to excuse the muumuu," she gestured to herself, "I was at the coast less than an hour ago, having sex on the beach. The drink, too." She grinned, "Ken and I brought our dogs. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," Anakin waved his hand carelessly, "We have a golden retriever ourselves. And two cats, four goldfish, and some hermit crabs." Anakin was anticipating the Lewis' dog to be a well-behaved poodle or some other kind of lapdog.

What he got was much different. Of course.

Corona grinned, eyes crinkling, "I like you! Come on, Devil! Hurry up, Satan! Over here, Beelzebub!" Three monstrous hellhounds bounded inside after her.

In strode Corona's shady-looking husband, Ken, whose trench coat swirled about his ankles. His eyes were shadowed by a broad hat, which he tipped lightly with a gloved hand. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a pair of oversized sunglasses and a thick black scarf.

"May I take your coat and hat, sir?" Threepio asked cheerfully.

Ken made sure that his scarf and sunglasses covered his face, before deigning to remove his hat. He unbuttoned his trench coat… to reveal another one underneath, completely identical to the first. A camera hung around his neck, and there were two blasters strapped to his belt. He lifted the camera, snapping a picture of Anakin's weary frown. "I _will _know all your secrets," he promised, before slipping away.

"Screw you too, asshole." Anakin muttered.

"Ani!" Padme called from the top of the stairs. She glided down the sweeping staircase, a vision in poinsettia-red brocade, a few tendrils of hair framing her face. "Be nice!" She hissed through clenched teeth, then gave him a deep, open-mouthed kiss. Anakin returned vigorously, effectively shutting her up.

"Uh, Padme?"

The two sprang apart, to see that Padme's parents, sister, brother-in-law, and nieces, had gathered around them. Anakin grinned broadly, slipping an arm around Padme's shoulders, "We have a very healthy relationship."

"So I see," Jobal raised an eyebrow coolly, "Padme, dear, if you could please let the servant boy do his work, and invite us in to meet your lovely husband and darling children?"

Padme drew in a sharp breath, "Mother," she said icily, her voice like the crack and snap of glacier ice. "This is my husband, Anakin."

"You got divorced? Whatever happened to the idiot you married?"

"_Mother_, that was _also_ Anakin."

"No kidding?" Came a male baritone, and everyone turned to see Obi-Wan, a rolled-up _Playboy_ tucked under his arm and holding a twelve-pack in each hand. "The back door was open," he explained, jerking his head toward the end of the hallway. There was silence, so he said, as if continuing an old conversation. "So my speeder died when I was tearing across the yard, _Dukes of Hazard_ style."

"You'll die." Great-Aunt Agatha creaked, appearing in the doorway. She leaned heavily on her cane, looking as if any contact might cause her to snap.

Obi-Wan bowed low, the action made difficult by his burdens. The _Playboy _dropped, opening to the centerfold. It was promptly grabbed by the bulldog, Beelzebub. "Great," Obi-Wan muttered.

"You want me to go check the speeder out?" Anakin offered, wanting to get away from the crazies. The second Obi-Wan nodded, Anakin sprinted into the hallway. Luke and Leia had taken their leave less noticeably – they simply edged off into the sitting room.

"So, where are your kids going?" Sola asked, noticing their rather conspicuous absence.

"Into the parlor," Padme forced a smile. "Shall we go join them?" She could hear faint strains of music. They must have been practicing their scales again, she reasoned. The twins had started piano lessons (Padme insisted) a week ago, with a sour old woman called Madame Asinotov.

As Padme led the ragtag band through the house, the piano music steadily increasing in volume, Jobal leaned close to Padme, "Are you sure that's your husband? Whatever happened to the sweet little boy who wanted to marry you when you were kids?"

Agatha cackled, "The sweet little boy died!"

Padme pressed her lips together in a thin line, refusing to say anything. When they came into the room, they found Luke and Leia sharing a piano bench. Uncle Ken snapped a picture. His camera spat out a copy, which he slipped into a folder called 'EVIDENCE.' Padme thought nothing of the twins at the piano, but everyone else stared, slack-jawed. "What?" the brunette asked, "It's only a few scaled.

"Padme!" Sola scolded, swatting her in the back of the head. "That's hardly scales! It's Pachebal's _Canon_ in D minor!"

The Senator blinked. "Is that good?"

"You plebian," Sola said fondly, "How long have your kids been playing?"

"Eh…" Padme paused to consider. "They've had about three lessons."

"What are we talking about?" Anakin asked as he came in, wiping off his just-washed hands with a lace-edged cloth.

"Those towels are just for decoration!" Threepio needled, hurrying after him.

Anakin held out the hand towel. "Here." He said quietly.

Threepio snatched it, "Oh, sure, just make me out to be the bad guy here…" the golden droid mumbled as he went off, occasionally muttering, "completely ungrateful … jerk … rude … thinks he's god … like he's so smart … I'll show him …"

Artoo rolled after. Dubya-Tee-Eff, mate?

Anakin chuckled, then realizes that the Naberries were looking at him, lips pursed in that disapproving Naberrie manner. "So…what were we talking about?"

Sola forced a smile, "Your kids are musical geniuses! Congratulations! Padme can't even carry a tune in a bucket…"

Anakin scoffed, "Playing the piano can't be that hard, can it?" He moved to the piano, "I've never even touched one before, and let's see how I do." He sat straight, wrists loose, before he began to play. His fingers were rapid over the ivory keys, golden light shining over his sand-colored hair, his thick eyelashes half-lowered.

Finally, Anakin turned, "There you have it. _Jingle Bells, _and I've never even touched one of these things before."

"That wasn't _Jingle Bells_." Sola informed him, "That was _La Vie en Rose._"

"See, Padme?" Jobal snapped, "I bet the pretty boy with the wimpy little girly braid by his ear would have known how to play a useful Life Day carol, rather than some old song no one cares about."

Padme, frustrated, growled and banged her forehead against the ornately carved mantle over the black carved fireplace. She cried out in pain, crumpling to the floor.

"Oh, yes, she's dead," Great-Aunt Agatha's knife-slash of a mouth curved into a smile. She laughed, her mirth bubbling to the high ceiling.

"Angel!" Anakin gasped, throwing himself across the room. He flipped in mid-air, landing gracefully next to the hearth. He crouched over Padme. "My love?" He asked gently, face etched with the utmost care and concern.

She clutched his tie, tightening it until he couldn't breath. "You need to…brush your hair…and tell little Jimmy I won't be home for Life Day…"

Obi-Wan assessed the situation.

Uncle Ken was caught between taking pictures of Anakin and bugging the communications systems.

Ruwee, Padme's haggard-looking father, was shuffling through the Skywalkers' mail, ripping open and peering at the bills and credit card statements.

Jobal was studying a picture of Anakin and Padme that had been taken a few days after the Battle of Naboo, with tears in her eyes.

Ryoo and Pooja were beating the crap out of each other, as Sola yelled at them.

Sola's husband – Ob-Wan couldn't remember his name – was looking at some art on the wall for "insurance reasons." He had already "insured" several small statues and champagne glasses in a large sack he'd pulled out of nowhere.

Luke and Leia had linked their handheld game systems and were having a battle royal, pausing occasionally to insult each other or whack the other over the head with a Game Boy.

Padme was unconscious, bleeding from the side of the head, and Anakin…

Anakin was trying to give her mouth-to-mouth, though that wouldn't explain why he was groping down the front of her dress, and muttering about _Pirates of the Caribbean_.

And there were three bulldogs tearing apart a couch cushion.

Obi-Wan did what any sane, red-blooded Great Negotiator™, who had trained The Chosen One™ would do.

He sat on the couch, put his feet up, and opened a beer.

…**To Be Continued…**

**Author's Note: **If you've read this far, thanks! rubs neck I don't think many people read the whole way through last time. Anyway, I have come to love reviews!


	3. Saturday Evening 1

**A Week With the Skywalkers**

**Part Three: **

**Evening (Chapter One)**

"I'm telling you…" Anakin whined to Padme's father over the second course. They had been arguing about it since before the Hors d'œuvres had been cleared away. "Jack Sparrow did it to Elizabeth in _Pirates of the Caribbean!"_

Padme was still annoyed. She hadn't been displeased to wake up in that manner. The Maker knew she wished it would happen more often. Nay, she was annoyed with the uninvited guests that had come to the door while she was unconscious. She was even more irked that her sister had let them in.

Palpatine had introduced the woman – Scarlet van Something-or-other – as his "lady friend." Of course, "lady friend" couldn't exactly explain the money he had slipped Scarlet. Nor the way Scarlet had accepted the credits with a lewd wink and tucked it down the low-cut front of her red mini-dress that was tight enough to have been painted on. Scarlet was five and a half feet, with crimson stiletto's that would have broken Padme's ankles. She added four inches of teased-up bottle blonde hair that had been dyed so many times it was parched and frazzled. Her dress left nothing to the imagination, and she wore more costume jewelry and make up than Padme had owned, even during her "Queen of the World" gig.

Meanwhile, the Republic's Supreme Chancellor looked unlike anything Padme had ever seen of him. She knew that she herself dressed with almost scandalous casualty around the house. But…to someone else's home? Palpatine was wearing a tattered jersey for his favorite rollerball team, with a grease-stained undershirt beneath. He wore wing-tipped dress shoes, alongside pants that weren't exactly pants. Or even shorts, for that matter. No, these could only be described as _breeches. _He had made some effort to look presentable, or at least recognizable, by throwing his velvet orating robes on top. And everyone in the Republic recognized that their beloved Chancellor was balding… why was he wearing a wig, let alone one that looked like a mullet?

She was also annoyed by the fact that her Uncle Ken kept taking picture after picture of her husband who Aunt Corona insisted on calling "Nicky." The shady-looking Ken was laying across the table, his elbow in Agatha's soup and the pointed toe of his boot in the breadbasket. The harsh, blinding bulb of his old-fashioned camera hadn't ceased flashing for a moment.

Nor had Padme's Great-Aunt Agatha ceased with her grim predictions of how each of the children present were going to die. Apparently, Padme's six-year-old niece, Ryoo, was going to drown in ten years, while thirteen-year-old Pooja would set the house on fire soon after, having been stricken with grief. Luke and Leia were destined to long, fulfilling lives, thank the Maker. Although, that could have been because they were natural suck-ups, much like their mother.

Padme's eye twitched as she realized that Corona's bulldogs had tracked muddy paw prints across the white carpet. The evening was _not _going according to plan! This was supposed to be _perfect. _Her mother was _supposed _to be charmed with Padme's husband and children. Her father was supposed be… oh, smoking a pipe and telling her how proud he was, while playing chess or bridge or something with Obi-Wan. Aunt Agatha was supposed to be offering to let the kids pet her poor, mangy cat. Her twins should have been getting along famously with their cousins. Corona and Ken shouldn't have even _been _there – they hadn't even sent an RSVP!

Instead, she had this.

Corona turned to Obi-Wan after she had finished her second bowl of soup. "Say, you look like a pretty decent fellow." She observed.

Anakin opened the Force-bond between him and Padme. /'**_Scarlet's a slut_**'/ He reported into her mind.

'**_What gives you that idea?'_**

_/'**One: her name. Two: the fact that she wears red.'/**_

_**'I'm wearing red.'**_

_**/'Yeah, but you're wearing bitch-red, and not slut-red. You're the lady, and she's the tramp.'/**_

**_'Whatever.' _**Padme pretended to focus on her meal until he finally gave up and disconnected the bond.

* * *

The twins stole quietly into the kitchen.

"Where did you get this?" Leia asked, nodding to the small jar of powder in her brother's hand.

"Well," Luke hummed, rather pleased with himself for orchestrating most of the plan. "I found this in the cabinet under the sink in Mom and Dad's bathroom." Standing tip-toed, the twins managed to evenly distribute half the jar among three large glass bowls of punch. They shared a quick, victorious grin before scurrying back to the table.

Their absence had never even been noticed.

* * *

They were having punch rather than wine. Padme thought it prudent since their were so many children… and, she thought, glancing to Obi-Wan and Anakin, children masquerading as adults. When everyone – except her twins, who, oddly enough, insisted that they wanted water – was settled, Padme got to her feet, holding up a fluted glass filled with crimson liquid.

"I want to thank you all for coming tonight. It means a lot to me, really. Um…thank you." For the first time, Padme fumbled for words. She knew she should have prepared instead of moisturizing earlier. "Well, I'm very grateful that you all could come out from the middle of nowhere…" She stayed poised and regal as ever, flashing a charming smile, "Anakin, would you like to say a few words?"

"Why not?" Anakin shrugged, getting to his feet, "Except for the fact that each and everyone of you hate me and think you're better than me, I love you guys. Padme, I love you, Angel. Leia, you kick ass, in spite of the fact that you're only five. And, Luke, one day you will be cool. In short, I extend my warmest wishes to the Naberries and...uh, as the Hutts say: Ekande ovine sokutsu!" He said exuberantly, lifting his glass.

"What does that mean?" Padme whispered as he sat down.

"It means…well, it's slang for "may you be licked in the ass by a thousand camels," actually."

**To Be Continued...**

* * *

Author's Note: I would like to thank Miss Naye for reviewing, and I would like to specifically acknowledge my gratitude to elmthesmartypants, whose review was the thing that encouraged me to continue to update this little story... 


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